


Aid to Translation

by Paian



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Linguistics, M/M, Masturbation, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge, Music, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-21
Updated: 2011-05-21
Packaged: 2017-10-19 16:40:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/202965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paian/pseuds/Paian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daniel's working at home, and one thing leads to another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aid to Translation

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Walls Have Ears](https://archiveofourown.org/works/202273) by [jdjunkie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdjunkie/pseuds/jdjunkie). 



The condo's high-end audio system pumped out a sultry, repetitive electronic bass line, periodically ornamented by a writhing seduction of synthesized tenor sax, punctuated at irregular but frequent intervals by imitations of the most primal of human vocalizations. Daniel knew full well the sounds were fake, but they pulsed through his body and twined around his brainstem, breathed into his auditory cortex, tongued his temporal lobe, elevated his respiration and heartrate. The continual contradiction in aural cues, the play of simulation and stimulation, put his puzzle-solving and language-processing mechanisms into overdrive. His breath was coming short, his heart thudding into his ribs; his groin was throbbing, and he'd spread his legs and rolled his hips forward to rub his crotch against the fabric of the typing chair. Back at the SGC, he'd been stumped by these writing systems for weeks, and during his absence while moving cross-country his staff hadn't made a dent in them; now, in just a few hours, he'd cracked two out of three, and he could feel the key to the last one hovering just within reach of his mental fingertips.

The living-room speakers panted a litany of profanity, the drum-machine thump approached tachycardia, and in a moment of orgasmic clarity Daniel saw that the ablative and dative were indistinguishable not just morphologically and syntactically but _psychologically and culturally_. The remaining mysteries of the ritual prayer went down like dominoes in one sustained, climactic rush. " _Oh_ yeah," he breathed, mousing from glyph to glyph to fill in the meanings, tabbing over to adjust and clarify the English translation, tabbing back to make additions to the annotated scan of the temple engraving. "Fuck yeah. That's it." He clicked Send to pipe his work to the mountain, and the stereo let out one grunt of genuine climax, then devolved into melodramatic gasps, and started fading out.

Daniel closed his notebook, stripped off his shirt, and rose to head for the bedroom all in one move. He stabbed a finger at the tuner's power button on the way by, missed, and didn't stop; in a minute the endless loop of menu music would kick in, but he didn't care one way or the other. Already barefoot -- the freedom to work bootless was another perk of the home office -- he shed his pants in the hall and dropped his briefs on the bedroom carpet. The sinfully thick duvet was a temptation of downy softness, but it was a pain in the ass to clean and he was too wildly turned on to spare even three seconds to grab a towel from the master bath, so he flung the covers out of harm's way, and then he was in the bed and on his back and spreading his legs and reaching between them, a whimper of anticipation breaking into a groan of pleasure at the warm practiced touch of his own hands.

His cock and balls were taut and swollen, aching for pressure. He gave them tugs and pinches instead, focusing on the skin, teasing a little and then hurting a little, a dozen nipping, biting little orgasm denials, trying to make it last. He thought _It's late, I should hold off_ and _Get the video camera_ and _Can't stop now_ and _Oh fuck that's good_. He moved one hand around behind his thigh and under his butt and fingered one cheek open and touched the hole, and wondered how the sounds he made in his head would play over the audio system, recorded and mixed with some sexy jazz, high-quality but not well-known enough to have its own associations, maybe some really obscure live Coltrane. His ass contracted hungrily around the intrusion of his finger. He twisted half over onto his side for some elbow room, kicking out against the lumped covers, and treated his balls to the roughest massage he could manage barehanded while he fingered himself dry, pushing with just the pad of his finger, no deeper than the first knuckle, just enough to feel penetrated, just enough to feel some burn.

It was going to be enough to make him come. He slid his hand up his dick and gripped the shaft just below his throbbing, pleading cockhead; he rubbed hard with his thumb, up and down and over and around, and squeezed upwards, vise-tight and slow; and orgasm surged up from the root of his sex, gushing into his hand, drenching his palm so that the fast pumping strokes he finished himself with slid slick and sweet over his pulsing flesh, the rhythmic stimulation he'd been striving towards since he'd slid that disc into the player and started work.

Half an hour later, he surfaced from a warm drowse to find Jack standing just inside the bedroom doorway, still in uniform, arms crossed over his chest, looking down with an expression of fond indulgence at his partner lying naked and debauched in their rumpled bed.

"You've been translating alien languages to porn-movie soundtracks, haven't you."

Daniel groaned, half in repentant regret that he hadn't waited the half-hour for Jack to get home, half in overwhelmed memory of the _mindblowing productivity_. "Oh my god, Jack, it's so much better when I don't have to wear headphones, I knocked off _three in one day_." He untwisted to lie flat on the sheet and get a better look at Jack. "I should have waited. I'm sorry."

"And cheat me out of the sight of this when I walk in the door?" Jack shook his head, moving towards the bed. "No way." He kneed onto the mattress and dropped to all fours over Daniel. "Got any more jobs in that perennial backlog?"

"Quite a few," Daniel said, soaking up the powerful effect of Lieutenant General O'Neill in full uniform mounting him where he lay, spent and deliciously vulnerable. "Why?"

"Because I took tomorrow off to help you settle in, and if you've got anything left after what I'm about to do with you ... " He lowered himself onto Daniel, a shocking arousal of scratchy wool and pointy badges against bare flesh. " ... I'd enjoy watching you work."

**Author's Note:**

> For [MMoM](http://mmom.dreamwidth.org/) at Dreamwidth; directly inspired by Daniel's statement "I've been known to use porn film soundtracks as background music while working on translations" in JDJunkie's 'Walls Have Ears.'


End file.
